RaBB verse: Haven't Seen You In a Dog's Age
by authoressnebula
Summary: For Sweet Charity: Dean's 19, Sam's 15. A curse leaves Sam as a puppy, and that leaves John and Dean to find the answer while watching out for a much tinier Sammy.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is one of the fics I wrote for Devon99 for Sweet Charity (not one of the extras, but the actual fic written). I couldn't resist the prompt! C'mon, how cute is Sam as a puppy?_

* * *

It was his brother's shout that had Dean jerking up and running full throttle to the warlock's basement. "Sammy!" he shouted as he ran. More cursing followed, and a part of Dean was relieved, because if the kid could curse, then he had to be alive. And speaking of cursing, those were some pretty decent swear words coming out of his teen brother's mouth.

Hopefully Dad wouldn't pin those on Dean. Dean had taught the kid a lot of words, but he didn't think he'd ever taught him _that_ colorful of a vocab.

Then he didn't care about the cursing because Sam was _screaming_, and Sam wasn't even supposed to be here, he was supposed to be out in the _car, _and Dean was scrambling down the stairs. He turned the corner and saw his dad hit the bottom of the basement, shotgun already going off. "Dean, left corner!" he shouted. That was all Dean needed and flew past his dad towards the left corner. There were tarps and planks of wood, all broken and bent from an impact, and the further he dug, the less of Sam he saw, and Dean couldn't dig any faster-

There. Movement. "Sammy?" he called, relief making him a little dizzy. "C'mon, squirt, you'll be okay, I gotcha don't I? Help me move this stuff out of the way." He still couldn't see Sam, and he knew the kid was tiny at fifteen, sure, but not _this_ tiny. Where the hell was he?

He finally saw a patch of brown. "Sammy? You all right?" he asked, nervousness returning. Kid still hadn't responded, and even though the warlock was screeching and his dad was smashing and shooting, Dean still should've heard Sam just fine. "Sammy?" he called again, and pulled away the last of the debris.

And stopped. Two big eyes stared up at him, fuzzy brown and white fur sticking out all over. Two little floppy ears twitched, and the black nose was aimed straight up towards Dean.

The funniest thing was, Dean actually wasn't all that surprised when he asked again, "Sammy?" and the dog, _puppy_, nudged its little black nose against Dean's hand.

Well...crap.

It finally registered that there was silence behind them, and Dean turned to see Dad hurrying over. He wasn't reloading the shotgun, so Dean had to assume that the immediate threat of the warlock was done with for the time being. "Dean? Where's Sam?" he asked.

Dean pursed his lips. He looked at the puppy, and the puppy looked back at him. Together they looked at their dad.

Dad stared. "You're kidding me," he said.

"I honestly don't think I am," Dean said before he looked back at Sam. He honestly had no idea what type of puppy Sam was, but whatever it was, it was cute. Sickeningly sugary _cute_.

Sam stepped forward and stumbled in the debris, his paws sliding each and every way. Dean instantly caught him and pulled him up into his leather clad arms. Puppy or not, Sam was his little brother. And Dean was still a big brother.

"Think there'd be anything left on the altar to tell us how to fix this?" Dean asked, turning to his dad once Sam was settled in his arms.

Dad began to answer, then paused when Sam whined softly. Both turned to him in confusion, and when Dean followed Sam's dark gaze did he see the warlock pierced by the wood from his own altar. Blood coated the wood stuck from the middle of his chest, and his wide eyes were forever locked on the ceiling.

"Get Sam out of here," Dad ordered immediately, but he didn't even have to say it. Dean was immediately pulling Sam closer and covering his little puppy eyes from the sight, even as he moved towards the stairs. If they'd needed proof that Sam was still Sam, that was it: even at fifteen, he hadn't been on a lot of hunts. And he sure as hell hadn't really seen anything that human and dead before.

Only once they were upstairs did Dean uncover Sam's eyes. It didn't matter: Sam's eyes were shut tight. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said softly. "We're heading out, okay? It's cool, we'll fix this." Negotiated around the furniture with ease that didn't match the fumbling he'd felt when he'd run down from the upstairs, where Sam wasn't _supposed_ to have been at all, and speaking of- "And what the hell were you doing downstairs? Or inside at all?"

Sam sniffed and burrowed his little nose into the crux of Dean's arm. Dean unconsciously pulled him a little closer. "Don't worry; Dad'll figure something out," Dean said. "And if he doesn't, I sure as hell will."

He paused before adding, "And don't you dare get dog-snot on my jacket, bitch."

He swore Sam chuckled even as he felt the tiny little nose rub purposefully against Dean's sleeve. Dean merely heaved a sigh and worked on opening the car door without dropping Sam.

* * *

"I bet if I told him to sit, he wouldn't do it."

Sam, who currently _was_ sitting, turned to give Dean a glare. And then, just to spite Dean, he stood up on all fours. Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious defiance. John shook his head, though he couldn't help the small grin. Dean was right: Sam was still Sam. "Dean, don't antagonize your brother."

"It's my job!" Dean insisted, and Sam huffed in response before stepping over towards Dean to, John had no doubt, express his opinion about Dean's words the only way he could now. Halfway over his paws slipped, and his front right leg went too far left. Dean was already out of his chair by the time Sam hit the floor, John half out of his.

Sam huffed again as he fought to get his feet underneath him again to stand, and when it didn't work, frustration gave way to a quiet whimper that made John wince for his baby boy. There had to be a way to get Sam back to Sam already.

God knew he'd torn through every book from the warlock's basement. He was going through the last pile of them now for the second time, but wasn't finding anything. He'd gathered up the ingredients from the altar as best he could and called Bobby and Jim with the problem and the list. Bobby had jokingly asked what breed Sam had wound up being, and neither he nor Jim had seemed very surprised when John had said a King Charles Spaniel.

John hadn't been very surprised, either. Intelligent, eager, and kindness to everyone that led to earned adoration. That was his boy.

After the initial small jokes, however, neither Bobby nor Jim had known the spell used. "It could simply be missing an ingredient," Jim had said. "I'll do what I can to find any transformation spells with common ingredients and see what we're lacking."

For now, though, Sam would have to stay a puppy. A puppy who still couldn't get his feet under him, and even as Sam tried again Dean was there to catch him and scoop him up. "I gotcha," Dean said softly. Sam huffed out through his tiny nose and closed his eyes. The muscle in Dean's jaw worked, but his words were still tender when he spoke again. "I know, Sammy. We'll figure this out, okay? You gotta be patient."

Sam opened his eyes at that and tilted his head back to look up at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes. "All right, _I'll _be patient, too. Damn but you ask a lot from me."

John's lips curled into a grin. It was funny how Dean still managed to understand his brother, canine or not. Sam hadn't even made any of the usual dog noises that generally clued people in, yet Dean had heard him loud and clear.

Then again, Dean had always managed to hear Sam no matter what his brother said.

"So...you wanna go outside and play?" Dean asked with the eager tone everyone reserved for pets or babies. "Huh, boy? Do you?"

John wasn't even remotely surprised when Sam reached out and bit Dean's arm. "Ow! God you're temperamental," Dean groused. Sam merely huffed again, his point made.

* * *

Two days later, even Dean was getting temperamental.

It wasn't even Sam's attitude. Sam was bearing it as well as he could, not curling up in a corner to cry, not getting enraged and biting everything and everyone that passed by. No, Sam was going on with the same amount of determination that he always did.

And _that_ was probably what was driving Dean insane. Sam shouldn't have to "bear it" or "get used to it". This was ridiculous. Insane. And no, Dean was _not _entertaining the thought that this could be permanent. Sam would be fine. They'd change this, and then Dean would tease Sam with a rubber ball for a good two weeks and Sam would retaliate by sticking dog bones in Dean's cereal and life would be good.

Not...not this.

"Do they smell differently?" Dean asked. Sam was laying on the ground near a spot of flowers at the park, his head stretched out towards them. He glanced back over his shoulder when Dean spoke, and Dean could practically hear Sam's confused _What are you talking about?_ "The flowers," Dean clarified. "Your nose is supposed to be more heightened as a dog."

Sam seemed to consider this, then tucked his nose back towards the flowers. He gave a short nod after that, then suddenly flew to his feet and tumbled backwards when a bee got a little too friendly with Sam's tiny black nose. Dean chuckled, earning Sam's glare. "Sorry dude," Dean said, sounding anything except apologetic. "Did the bee scare you?"

Dean was going to get bit again. Sam began to push himself up and Dean half lifted himself from the park bench. A moment of trial and error had Sam's paw shooting out underneath the other one, but he quickly regained his balance. Dean could've sworn that he grinned in triumph when his legs stayed beneath him. "Yeah, whatever," Dean huffed as he sat back down, but he relaxed when Sam continued to stand and even began to walk back over towards him.

"Hey!"

Both Sam and Dean turned towards the shout. A man somewhere near his sixties, if Dean had to hazard a guess, was walking rapidly towards them. "Uh, can I...help you?" Dean asked, frowning.

"That dog of yours," the man said, and Dean tensed right back up again. "He doesn't have a leash on. No pets allowed in the park without a leash."

"He doesn't need a leash," Dean said. His voice stayed calm and cool, but his feet were already planted and ready to move, and then calm and cool were going to rapidly fade away. Sam was keeping his eyes on the man and backing towards Dean. Going backwards, however, wasn't the same as going forwards, and he stumbled a little, almost ending up on his tail. (And while that had been fairly funny two days ago when Sam had discovered he _had_ one, it wasn't funny now.)

The stumble had the man's gaze shifting back to Sam, and his wide eyes got even wider. "He doesn't even have a _collar_? That's illegal here!"

It probably was, knowing their luck. "I forgot it and left it back at the house," Dean said coolly, rising slowly as if he were dealing with a wild animal. Ironically, it wasn't the real dog here that he was more afraid of. "Thanks for reminding me about that; I'll be sure to have it next time we come out to the park." Which would be _never,_ and why the hell had he let Sam's now even more lethal puppy-eyes talk him into stepping outside?

Oh yeah; because Dean had been that eager to get out of the house. He should've stayed inside, should've-

The man wasn't having any of it, and stepped towards Sam. Sam in return skittered backwards even more, and this time did wind up crashing onto his tail, yelping slightly as he did so. Even as the man reached for a cowering Sam, Dean slid between his little brother and the threat, glowering down from his good six inch advantage over the man. The man blanched but still managed to glare back. "I have to report this," he said firmly. "Without his leash, he's considered dangerous and not allowed in the park. Without his collar he has to be impounded. I'm taking him."

"You touch him, and there'll be a different type of pounding going on," Dean assured him, eyes narrowing. "If it makes you feel any better, we're leaving." He knelt and swept Sam into his arms, and his first step was away from the man.

Eight steps away, Dean paused and threw over his shoulder, "Should let you know that it isn't _his_ bite you need to be afraid of." He smirked humorlessly as the man turned even whiter.

Dean continued walking, Sam's nose buried in Dean's sleeve again. "Screw him and his leash," Dean growled. "Nobody's putting a collar on you or a goddamn leash, you hear me Sammy?" A small snuffling sound was his only answer. Dean forced himself to breathe deeply until he could be calm and careful enough with Sam and not vent anger that wasn't intended for him at all. "Don't worry about it, okay?" he said when he was cooled down enough. "I told you, big brother still applies. They're not gonna touch you, not with me around."

Sam gave a small nod but kept his little nose in Dean's sleeve. Dean gritted his teeth and if he held on a little tighter, Sam didn't seem to notice or care.

* * *

It shouldn't have surprised John so much to see Sam curled up on the mattress, staring at the television as the news blared. "No cartoons?" he joked softly. Sam didn't even move, merely blinked as he kept his gaze on the reporter.

John sighed. Dean had come home yesterday looking ready to kill something, a total juxtaposition to the five-bully incident months before. John had thought his son had been angry then, but either his memory was getting soft, or Dean was simply more furious than before. And just like last time, Sam had been the reason for Dean's protective rage. All John had had to see was Sam looking as close to crying as puppies could to know that whatever had happened had seriously threatened Sam. And that in turn generally led to his oldest getting fist-friendly.

Dean spitting about something about a man in the park, the pound, and a collar had put a fire into John's veins as well. All it had taken to keep the fire at bay, though, had been Sam curling even more into Dean's jacket-clad arms. John had decided that they were all staying inside until this got figured out.

Then he'd gotten the full story later from Dean when Sam had fallen asleep on his bed.

"Can I join you?" John asked. Sam's gaze momentarily skirted over to him before returning to the television, whom he gave two short nods to. John took a seat next to Sam, careful not to slide over onto Sam. On the television, a small woman reported live from D.C. about the next scandal.

John cleared his throat and couldn't help the small smile when Sam's ears instantly perked up without his permission. They immediately flattened, and Sam gave a huff of frustration. "I was just going to let you know that Jim and Bobby are still looking," John said. "I'm still looking, too. So's Dean." When his big brother wasn't trying to figure out to how wrap a leash around someone's neck, that was. John rolled his eyes at the memory of _that_ particular conversation. Dean wouldn't really do it, but he was pissed, and nothing pissed Dean off as much as seeing Sam hurt and unable to do anything about it.

And that was this situation perfectly. All of them were on the edge now, antsy for an answer, anxious for a way to get Sam back.

Sam finally raised his head from the television to John, eyes wide and pleading. God, and John had thought Sam's puppy eyes were bad _before_ he actually became a puppy. Kid was gonna be lethal after this. "We'll find something," John promised. "I swear, kiddo."

Sam lowered his head slightly, eyes falling to the mattress cover. John stared for a long moment at his son before straightening his legs until they were parallel on the bed. Sam glanced up at the movement, his little head tilting in confusion. John smiled and tilted his own head. "C'mere Sammy."

It was a wobbly stand but a fast one, and Sam quickly climbed up to curl in John's lap. John rested his palm gently on the top of Sam's tiny head and felt Sam shudder a sigh. "You remember the last time I was actually able to hold you?" he asked, and he could've sworn the huff Sam gave was a chuckle. "Yeah, I know; long time ago. You were...four? Maybe even five. The chairs were really low at that one diner, and Dean wasn't big enough to take your weight." Though he knew that if John couldn't have taken Sam, Dean would've, size and weight ratios be damned.

"I managed to keep you on my knee for dinner, but my knee sure as hell complained later." A beat, and John added, "And that doesn't mean that I'm old. Just means you were too heavy."

Like Sam was gonna buy it. Sam's little body shook in mirth under John's hand, and John hadn't even realized he was petting Sam's head and ears until he looked down. Sam seemed happier and more relaxed than before, and John wondered wryly if Dean would settle down by a simple petting.

For now, though, he'd let his oldest plot a leashed doom on whomever gave Sam the evil eye. John reached over for the remote and switched to a station with cartoons. Sam shifted slightly to watch, though his eyes were beginning to sleepily close, and John smiled.


	2. Chapter 2 End

_A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the reviews!! I'm glad this story's been helping rot your teeth. ^_^ There's a version of this story that contains pictures: go to authoressnebula(dot)livejournal(dot)com(slash)784675(dot)html for the first part of the fic; there's a link at the bottom that'll take you to part two. Remember to take the (dot) and replace it with a period mark, and the (slash) with a forward slash mark._

_Either way you read this, I hope you guys enjoy the last part!_

* * *

Four days, and Sam was actually looking like he had the whole walking on four feet thing down. It was a good thing because Dean hated the pained sound Sam made when he hit the floor.

It was a bad thing because it meant that this stupid thing had gone on long enough.

There hadn't been a call from Jim or Bobby in awhile, and that in itself could've been a good or bad thing, too. They could be taking their time to make sure they had the right answer and call any minute. Or they could still be searching fruitlessly, and this was such crap.

Sam barked and drew Dean's attention towards him. Once Sam knew Dean was watching he stepped backwards until his tail hit the couch. He paused and waited, then ran forward towards Dean. Halfway there Sam hit the ground with his tail, and even as Dean stood to help, Sam was still moving and sliding across the wooden floors on his bottom. He slid to a stop right in front of Dean, panting happily.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Great; now you're gonna have slivers in your ass." Sam gave him a pointed look, then panted happily again. Despite his mock-annoyance a moment before Dean started grinning as well. If the kid was happy, Dean was happy. Sam's smile (albeit a puppy one) had always been contagious.

"Are you as tired of this house as I am?" Dean asked him. Sam quickly ran for the door in response. "That's what I thought." He was more than happy to push his chair back and follow after Sam. Almost at the door and Sam slipped slightly, dipping down to his left. Dean caught up fast in time to catch Sam and put him back upright. "Not so fast, Sammy," Dean warned. "Think you've showed off enough for one day."

If dogs were capable of rolling their eyes, Sam would've done it. "Yeah, all right," Dean sighed, opening the door. Sam darted out before him (like Dean figured he would), but then froze, leaving Dean to catch himself in the doorway or risk falling on Sam. "Sam, what the-?"

Ahead on the sidewalk was a young couple walking their dog. The dog was leashed with a shiny red collar that stood out against the white hair. They passed by without taking any notice of Sam or Dean.

They'd certainly been noticed by Sam, though. And Dean knew why. "Sammy, I'm not putting a collar on you," Dean said firmly. Sam glanced over his small shoulder up at Dean, his literal puppy eyes fully engaged. "No," Dean insisted. "Don't ask me to, either, because I won't. It's lame and it's stupid and you're my little brother. I'm not gonna put some stupid thing around your neck just so we can go outside."

Sam gazed at him for a long moment, then shifted to look back out at the yard. They didn't have much outside, just a small wooden porch and a small space of green grass. Ahead, maybe two blocks down, was the park they'd headed over to a few days before. The Impala was parked to the left on the small concrete space, and the sidewalk that was connected to that ran pretty much the length of the town.

They could go wherever they wanted if Sam had a collar on. And Dean _knew_ that Sam knew about Dean's restlessness. It wasn't the kid's fault they couldn't head outside, but Dean could practically see the cogs turning in Sam's little fluffy head. Dean was staying with Sam until the curse or whatever got broken and Sam was back to normal. If Sam didn't go outside, then Dean wasn't going outside. So Dean's anxiousness and need to wander was therefore all Sam's fault. Sam's dumb logic tied it all in to himself, and Dean knew it.

Which was why Sam's slow step back indoors was immediately cut off by Dean's big boot. Sam glared up at Dean and Dean glared right back down at him. "Don't you dare," Dean said firmly. "This isn't your fault, you hear me?"

Sam tried to move around him to go back inside, leaving Dean no option but to crouch down to keep Sam from ducking around him. "Hey," Dean said, voice softer this time. "Sammy, listen to me. This is _not_ your fault. I could head out whenever I wanted but I don't want to leave you. And that's also not your fault," Dean was quick to add. "I'm a big brother, dude. _I _don't want to leave _you_. That means you're stuck with me until we figure this out." And that kept Sam out of harm's way, if Dean was watching him. If Dean ever found that stupid idiot from the park, Dean _was_ going to use a leash. Just not on Sam, and not exactly the way the manufacturers had ever planned on it being used.

Sam bowed his little puppy head to gaze at the porch, his ears drooping. Dean sighed and tapped the underside of Sam's chin. "Do you honestly think it'd make you feel any better if you had a stupid collar on?" Dean asked. After a pause Sam shook his head slightly. He still didn't look up, which left Dean wanting to sigh again. He knew why Sam was really upset, but beyond inducing a chick-flick moment (which he'd just tried to do and the message still hadn't gotten through), Dean didn't know how he could help his little brother. Stupid Sam for thinking that Dean would choose freedom from the house over Sam. Stupid Sam and his stupid insistence to do something that he'd hate if it would keep Dean happy.

Not like Dean could really say he shouldn't because hello pot and kettle, but. Things were never the same when it came to Sam.

Dean bit his lip and ran his fingers through his own hair before he stopped. Looked. And began to grin. "Hey Sammy," he said. Sam glanced up at last, still unhappy. A second later, Sam tilted his head in confusion as he watched Dean pull one of the leather bands off of his wrist. He had at least six of them that he'd bought at the Metallica concert a short while ago (and hadn't that been a blast and a half) and he tugged one free now. "Gimme your hand," Dean said. Sam hesitantly handed his right paw forward.

He wound up having to double twist the thing, but the bracelet stayed on over Sam's little paw. "Much better than a collar," Dean said, still grinning. Sam shook his appendage to make sure it wouldn't come off, and when it didn't Sam raised two dark and happy, grateful eyes to meet Dean's. "Happy now?"

Sam nodded firmly. "Good," said Dean cheerfully. "Now march it, mutt." Sam pretended to nip at Dean's pants in response to the friendly name-calling, then scampered down the stairs to follow Dean out of the house.

* * *

The phone rang halfway through dinner. Sam was thoroughly enjoying himself as he subtly kept sneaking bites from Dean's slice of pizza. John _had_ been attempting to help distract Dean enough to keep his oldest perplexed and vaguely annoyed, but then the phone had rung and everyone had frozen.

John pushed his chair back and reached for his cell. "John."

"John, it's Jim. I know what was missing."

John snapped his fingers and Dean went scrambling for a piece of paper. A pat at John's foot was Sam, who held a pencil between his teeth. "Thanks kiddo," John said, snagging the pencil just as Dean came back with the paper. "Go ahead, Jim."

The conversation didn't last long: they had most of the ingredients from the warlock's home. The lone two ingredients that had been missing were actually in John's trunk, in his more extensive first-aid kit. The instructions were easy enough, though John made sure to painstakingly write them all down. Last thing he needed was to further screw this up and hurt Sam. John thanked Jim and told him to pass the thanks on to Bobby for him, then ended the call. "Dean, get me a bowl and a lighter," John ordered, hurrying out to the car.

When he came back in, Dean had shoved the furniture in the living out of the way as well. "He got thrown last time," Dean explained. John gave a terse nod and handed the last two ingredients over to Dean.

"Wha-?"

"Two pieces of each leaf, two teaspoons of each powder," John said. "All in the bowl."

"Isn't there an incantation? 'Cause I'm not your Latin expert."

No, John's Latin expert was staring up at him with two soulful, wide eyes, his tail falling and his tiny little body shaking. "No incantation," John said, softening his voice as he crouched next to Sam. "Hey Sammy; you ready for two legs again?"

The nod was vigorous but still bearing a touch of fear. "You'll be fine, I promise you," John said, reaching out to his son. Sam instinctively took a step back, then shook himself and moved deliberately forward to John. The trust Sam had in John, enough to override his fear, shook John to the core.

He wondered if he'd get to keep that trust. Lately with all of Sam's teenage fantasies of staying in one place...

John turned to Dean. His oldest was watching Sam, and as soon as Sam seemed okay Dean's shoulders came down a full inch. Not the only one worried or scared, then. Truthfully John felt out of his league as well: magic wasn't his thing. They didn't _do_ magic, and they all knew it. It was dangerous, and easy to screw up.

But it had touched his son and John was going to make sure it fixed whatever it had done when Sam had gone downstairs. Speaking of, why _had_ Sam gone downstairs in the first place? Or inside? John had left his son out in the Impala.

"It's all set," Dean informed him. John nodded and placed the bowl on the ground in front of Sam. Carefully he lit the pile of herbs and backed away, Sam and Dean with him. The flame burned brightly for a moment before disappearing completely. The herbs, surprisingly, were all blackened ash.

Unsurprisingly, Dean was the first to speak. "Now what?"

"Sam?" John said, but Sam was already stepping forward towards the bowl. He glanced up at John first, then Dean, before reaching out and touching his paw to the ashes.

A bright light flared and Sam howled. John's vision cleared in time for him to see the sofa tumble over with a familiar and missed voice calling out, "Ow! Sonuva_bitch_!"

John shot a look at Dean even as they hurried to Sam. "I didn't teach him that," Dean insisted when they reached the sofa.

Brown floppy hair and two puppy dog eyes greeted them. This time, however, they were human puppy eyes, the kind only his baby boy could pull off. "You okay?" John asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, rubbing his head. "But _ow_. Man, that _hurt_."

"Lemme see," Dean demanded, climbing over the tipped sofa. John pulled the sofa away to reach his son. "What part of your head?"

"It's not so much my head as it is..._everything_," Sam tried to explain. "I didn't really hit my head when I flew, it's more..."

"Dean, he just went from a tiny puppy to a teenage boy," John simplified when Dean looked confused. "Give him a minute."

Sam flashed him a smile of gratitude, and the smile was so Sam that John couldn't help crouching and tugging Sam into his embrace. "Dad?" Sam said, bewilderment in his voice.

"God I missed you," he murmured. Sam's arms wrapped around John's neck at the words, and John found that he could still hold Sam without any difficulty, knee or no knee.

* * *

"So...why _were_ you down in the basement? Or, you know, in the house at all?"

Sam glanced up from where he was taking off his shoes. Somehow, he'd wound up still clothed exactly like he'd been the day he'd been transformed. Transformations were _weird_.

And not exactly something Sam wanted to go through again.

Dad was paying attention now, setting his newspaper down on his lap. "That's actually a question I want answered as well," he said. Soft, even voice, but there was an edge behind it, too. He sounded ready to be just as pissed as Dean currently was.

Sam sighed and kicked off one of the shoes, annoyed with the laces. "He was...Dean, he had your picture."

Dean frowned. "He what?"

"Your picture. It looked like that picture of you that Dad has in his wallet, and it had a circle of blood around it. He hurried downstairs with it and I thought he had you or Dad or he was going to...never mind," Sam mumbled, turning away to kick off the other shoe. It bounced off the hardwood floor and settled somewhere in the corner of the room.

"You thought he was going to use blood magic?" Dean asked, confused now more than angered. "On me?"

"He very well may have been intending to," Dad said. The edge was gone from his voice now. "If Sam had interrupted him, he couldn't use whatever spell he had for you, so he had to use a backup spell instead."

"The puppy one."

"Which he threw at me," Sam said, finishing Dean's realized thought.

Dad nodded. "That doesn't explain why you were close enough to see the picture in the first place."

Sam bit his lip. Damn; he'd hoped his dad would've ignored that little hole in the explanation. "I, uh, saw him come in the back door," he said, staring at his sock-clad feet. He wondered briefly if they were going to start smelling after multiple days of having been on. Or were they fresh, just like they'd been the night of the warlock? "I saw Dean moving upstairs, and you were in the study on the right, and..." Sam shrugged. "Y'know." It'd been obvious that somehow, the warlock had given both of the hunting Winchesters the slip and was circling around to take them by surprise.

Sam glanced back up and waited while his dad filled in the pieces that he wasn't saying. "There were two of us and one of him," Dean said, giving Sam a look. "Odds were in our favor, Sammy."

"I wasn't taking that chance," Sam said simply. Not with his dad. Not with Dean.

"The spell could've been more dangerous," Dad finally said. "We got lucky. If I tell you to stay outside, you stay outside. Call me on my cell instead."

Sam nodded and resisted the urge to drop his gaze again. A moment later, and Dad slowly began to smile. Possibility of a lecture had passed. "Glad you were watching, though."

"You put yourself at risk again, and I'll kick your ass," Dean said without missing a beat. Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean it," Dean said, narrowing his gaze.

"I know, Dean," Sam said. He gave his brother a smile, and Dean pursed his lips but uncrossed his arms.

Dad stood and took the bowl of herbs out to the porch to cleanse the remains. "You need help with any of the clothes? Besides washing them: you're on your own there," Dean said, finally allowing himself to grin. "They've gotta stink at this point."

"Actually, I don't think they do," Sam replied. "Which is really strange if you think about it, but...yeah. Feel and smell just like they did that night." He tugged the sleeves of his button-up in order to let it join the rest of the pile, then stopped when his fingers touched something thin. "What the...?"

"What?"

Sam quickly pulled the shirt off and...there. On his wrist was a small leather band. "It stayed _on_?" Dean asked incredulously. "_Dude_."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, shaking his wrist. The band slid down a little towards his elbow, but didn't come off when he turned his arm the other way. "Weird." He paused and glanced up at Dean. "You, uh, probably want it back-"

"It's yours," Dean said, putting his hands up. "I don't take back gifts. And I didn't give it to you as a substitute for a collar, you know."

No, Sam knew why his brother had given it to him. It had nothing to do with a collar, but everything to do with Dean saying how much he wanted Sam around. How much he wanted to be there with Sam. How much they were still _brothers_, puppies or not. "Thanks," Sam said softly.

Dean grinned and reached out to tousle Sam's hair. Sam half-heartedly tried to duck away, unable to stop his own grin. "If you scratch me behind my ears, you'll regret it, jerk."

"You're already gonna clean my jacket from all the dog-snot you put on it, bitch."

END


End file.
